


One More Time to Kill the Pain

by rachelsprospera



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, LISTEN OK, and i just need yall to be warned, but it's gonna get real smutty, i know it's rated explicit and there's nothing explicit yet, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 23:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15896733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelsprospera/pseuds/rachelsprospera
Summary: “What’s the job?”“So, up front, the only thing I’ll say is it’s going to be a wild and dangerous ride. Probably nothing new for someone like you.”Riley smirks a little. “Man, you just can’t lay off the flattery, can you? Did you fall in love with me during your little intel gathering spree?”Deacon might be surprised at this, but it’s not like she can see because of his shades. “Hey, I know a work of art when I see one. Playing in the dirt down here and spooning skeletons gives you a new appreciation for a guns-blazing war goddess when you see one.”





	One More Time to Kill the Pain

“Where the hell you been, Deex? Ever since Switchboard, you’ve been M.I.A. More than usual, I mean.”  
  
A few months of Deacon’s more than frequent absence passes before Glory finally asks him about it one night at HQ. It was nothing like how often he’d been gone the previous year, but it was enough for the other agents to begin noticing once more.  
  
“What, Dez didn’t tell you? I’m perfecting my latest disguise and going full Mirelurk. The claws are actually the hard part, believe it or not.”  
  
Glory just gives him a look and shakes her head. “You’re a sick son of a bitch, you know that?”  
  
Deacon didn’t have the heart to break it to her that it was another one of his lies. The image she must have been conjuring in her head trying to figure out how in the hell he’d successfully disguise himself as a Mirelurk was too amusing to squander.  
  
So Deacon wandered. Dez was the only one who truly knew about it just yet— the ‘project’.  
  
The accounts he’d found linking the Railroad’s numero uno enemy, Kellogg, to the unassuming vault just outside of Sanctuary were too juicy to pass up on. He’d known little about what Kellogg or the Institute’s intentions had been in the vault back in 2227, but he did know one thing: they’d left one dweller alive. If Deacon had learned anything, it was to never discount the details. It couldn’t have been a coincidence they’d pulled the plug on everyone else and kept her on ice. Now he just needed to do what he did best— wait. Lie in the shadows.  
  
It wasn’t until a couple weeks following that the waiting game was up. Deacon had spent the past two years preparing for this moment, and it still hadn’t been enough. The sole survivor of Vault 111 was nothing like he’d expected.  
  
He sees her in Bunker Hill first. She doesn't look a thing like the rest of the scavvers of the Commonwealth, obviously-- her skin is pale, smooth and unblemished. If it weren't for her eyes-- green, intense and sharp like a hawk's-- she'd look completely soft. Pre-War. She has a long, jagged scar marring her right cheek, but it looks fresh. Like the 'Wealth had chewed her up and spit her back out just upon her escape from the vault. Her hair looks bleached, it's so pale of a white. She's plenty beautiful, but it's her behavioral tendencies that catch Deacon's attention the most.  
  
On her first night at Bunker Hill, she downs three bottles of beer at Joe Savoldi's bar. If it weren't for the bags under her eyes and the way she sometimes gazes off into the distance, Deacon would've thought she was drinking for the hell of it. The truth, however, seemed to be that she was chasing her sorrows to the bottom of each bottle.  
  
She doesn't stay in Bunker Hill for long. After one night of recuperating, Deacon trails after her as she heads to 'the Great Green Jewel', Diamond City. From then to almost a month and a half later, Deacon remains in the shadows, watching as Nick Valentine eventually leads her to killing both Kellogg and (eventually) an Institute Courser. After catching bits and pieces of her conversations with Nick and Piper about decoding the chip, Deacon starts to consider finally talking to Dez about stepping forward and recruiting her. The one thing that stops him, however, is a confrontation that seems to change everything.  


* * *

  
"Is there a reason why you're loitering around in my office, or are you just here to crack more jokes about a 'toaster' running a detective agency?"  
  
Riley glances up from her bottle of bourbon as Nick Valentine crosses the threshold, shooting him a sheepish grin. "Damn, how'd you find me out? I can see Piper's headlines now. 'The Great Clockwork Dick of the Green Jewel reaches spiritual enlightenment-- his psychic abilities heighten as his chakras align. Will Diamond City's rusty toaster give Mama Mentats-Murphy a run for her money?'"  
  
Ellie Perkins, Nick's assistant, rolls her eyes as she sifts through a filing cabinet off to Riley's left. Nick, with a predictably similar reaction, shakes his head in exasperation. He walks straight past Riley as she tips the bottle back and takes another swig, expelling a loud belch just as he takes a seat at his desk.  
  
"Do you mind?" he asks, clearly annoyed. "I still haven't found a lead on Jenkin's missing daughter and your lollygagging around doesn't exactly inspire a lot of focus. Are you going to drink yourself into a coma? You've had the Courser Chip for about a week now. Maybe instead of wallowing, you should be looking for someone to help crack it."  
  
Riley sighs heavily, mentally preparing herself for another one of Valentine's lectures. "Piss off, Nick. Didn't realize this was the 'Guilt Trip Agency'. You know I've been scrounging around for leads-- it just gets a teensy bit disheartening when you remember your son was kidnapped by a bunch of slavers in labcoats. For all I know they've ground him to bits and replaced him with some kind of synth version of himself."  
  
"Mm-hmm. And what happens if you ask someone for help and they don't give it to you because you're too drunk to even walk in a straight line? My advice-- put the bourbon to rest. Focus on your son. The Commonwealth will eat him alive if you don't get to him quick enough; Institute included."  
  
Riley smirks, sloshing the bourbon around in the bottle absent-mindedly. "You just don't stop, do ya?"  
  
"If I did, I'd find you dead in a ditch from alcohol poisoning."  
  
"You're not wrong," Riley says under her breath. "You are not wrong at all." Just as she's contemplating another big swig, Ellie speaks up.  
  
"Have you considered the Minutemen yet? Maybe they'd be willing to offer some help back in Sanctuary?"  
  
Sanctuary. Sanctuary was where her brother Nate had lived with his wife-- where she and Shaun had lived, just prior to the bombs dropping. She hadn't gone back. It might've seemed like a logical progression to most, but Riley had known what would await her. A house blown to shreds, an empty crib and nothing but a reminder that the world had ended. Her world had ended.  
  
"How?" Riley asks, squinting at Ellie like she's gone stupid. "Do you really think a ragtag group of redneck scavengers would be able to crack into a technologically advanced courser chip? What are they gonna do, scratch their overall wedgies and hit a breakthrough?"  
  
"They could certainly do more than sit there and drink themselves silly," Nick points out with an edge to his voice.  
  
"Ohh- _kay_ , that's enough," Riley interrupts, heaving to her feet. "I've had enough buzzkill from you in the past five minutes to last me about three lifetimes. Don’t worry, though. When I need more of the 'iron' fist-- _get it?_ \-- I'm sure I'll come crawling back." Riley tilts the bottle in Ellie's direction, offering it to her for a drink. When the girl shakes her head, Riley shrugs and takes another swig before making her way towards the door.  
  
"Keep your head on out there," Nick calls, just as the door swings shut behind her.  
  
Once on the streets of Diamond City again, Riley inhales deeply. The city smells like rust, ruin and plenty of dust. _Just like home._ Chucking the now empty bottle of bourbon off into the corner of Nick's alleyway, she heads in the direction of the central market. She's passing two men-- one taking a smoke break and the other leaning against the wall beside him-- when she hears it.  
  
"I have a buddy who was talking about the Railroad again. Apparently his cousin finally joined up with them."  
  
"The Railroad? Isn't that just some kind of kid's bedtime story to try and scare the Institute or somethin'?"  
  
"Nah, I'm tellin' you-- I know a guy. They help synths escape the Institute. It's their whole thing."  
  
Riley slows down as she hears this conversation, stopping just around the corner to listen to the rest of their chatter. The Railroad. The words linger in her head in a way she can’t quite fathom. She thinks of Nick— the closest thing she has to a best friend in the Commonwealth. It was only thanks to him she’d tracked down the clues to obtaining the Courser Chip that would eventually get her into the Institute to save her son.  
  
Overly moral goody-two-shoes or not, she loved Nick. The past month would’ve been hell without him. There were people dedicated solely to fighting for Nick and other synth’s rights?  
  
“If you’re so hip on the recent gossip then, how do you do it? How do you join?”  
  
“Are you kidding? Follow the Freedom Trail. I’ve heard... rumors... that it starts in the Common.”  
  
Riley takes a shaky breath and walks. She’s heard enough.  


* * *

  
The dream at least starts out like how it'd happened in real life.  
  
Riley is playing a game of checkers with Ellie, her feet thrown up on the edge of Nick's desk as he works.  
  
"When's the last time you've changed into a new pair of shoes? Your feet smell like radiation from the backside of a brahmin's ass," Nick complains, carefully edging his paperwork away from the tips of her boots.  
  
"You know how mutant hound shit is the size of Mexico and it's all green and frothy? I made sure to take a little stroll through some of that on my way home. Just for you, pal." She pretends to wipe something from the sole of her boot on the edge of Nick’s desk with a smirk. “Ahhh. Would you look at that?”  
  
"Riley, seriously?" Ellie complains as she moves one of her pieces across the board. "The things you say sometimes.."  
  
"She's not serious," Nick grumbles under his breath. "She's never serious. The woman doesn't have a serious bone in her body. She could write a book about utilizing levity to adapt to stressful and traumatic situations."  
  
Just as she's about to reply, the door to the agency swings open and one of Diamond City's newest traders strides in. Riley had seen him swapping some goods with Myrna earlier in the day, so she figured he might just be passing through.  
  
He has a look on his marred, stubbled face that tells her he's plenty pissed. It's not until he's practically lunging over Nick's desk that she finally sees his hand flying for the gun at his belt.  
  
"You fucking played me you sick son of a bitch," he snarls, eyes flashing. "Did you think I wouldn't know it was you? That you set me up?"  
  
"Jenkins, if you want me to know what the hell you're talking about, you're going to have to give me more to go off than that. Calm down so we can talk about this," Nick reasons, slowly pushing back from his desk with his hands up.  
  
"Nick, _this_ is Jenkins?" Riley demands. "What the hell is going on?"  
  
"That's what I'd like to know, admittedly," Valentine murmurs. The trader has his pistol out now, and it's shaking in his hands.  
  
"Carla. I fucking came to you to help me find her. Well, guess what? She turned up right as I was leaving town. Met me at the Diamond City fucking gates. I knew it wasn't her. She had this weird twitch in her eye, and when I asked her about... about her mom, she..." The man swallows, and Riley can just barely see the tears shining in his eyes. "I killed her. I killed her and there was a fucking synth component on her, just like I knew there'd be. Funny you didn't know a thing about any of this. You're in league with them and I know it-- half of Diamond City knows it. They're just too pussy to do anything about it."  
  
Ellie had edged her way to the side of the room, pressing herself against the wall, but Riley took a brazen step forward to where the two men stood. "And how in the fuck did you reach that conclusion? That's a pretty massive leap, don't you think? What kind of paranoid are you? If someone sucks some helium and talks to you in a funny voice, are they a synth too? Programmed specifically by the Institute to _ruin your day_?"  
  
Jenkins whips his head towards her, expression still in an ugly snarl. "Will you fuck off? Who are you, anyway? Some Institute cheerleader slumming it with Frankenstein over here? Look, I don't need to take any of this shit."  
  
It happens in slow motion. She sees-- no, hears-- the safety click off, and when she does, she lunges for her weapon, just barely making it in time. When she pulls the trigger, he's not expecting it. The gunshot is loud-- ringing. He shoots his gun too, but he misses.  
  
Jenkins falls back. He collapses.  
  
There's blood. Riley only sees blood.  
  
Blood spilling from the hole in the man's chest. Blood pooling on the carpet. Blood streaming down Nick's face, pouring from his yellow eyes.  
  
When she turns, there's a man. He's dressed up like a Diamond City guard, but she knows he's not. His shades hide his eyes, but she can see part of the grim expression he wears through the way his lips are pressed into a hard line. His head is bald, and somehow the shape of it strikes some kind of familiarity in her. Like she'd seen him dozens of times before.  
  
When he speaks, his words feel like they're singing in her core in the way words sometimes do in dreams.  
  
"Don't blame yourself, Boss. There are plenty of bigots across the 'Wealth trying to make the game harder for synths-- we've lost more to them than we have the entire Institute combined. Just watch after Nick. That's all you can do."  
  
Riley squints at him, and it's then she realizes she's dreaming. "Wait, when the hell did you even...? Who are you? What are you ta--"  
  
She wakes up. It's a quick jolt, and she quickly finds she's covered in a thin sheen of sweat.  
  
Laying there in the dark on her bed at the Dugout Inn, she realizes that she has seen the man before.  
  
She just can't put her finger on where.  


* * *

  
It had been a week since what had gone down with Nick and Jenkins, and Riley still couldn't stop dreaming of it. Thinking about it. Having a man's blood on her hands for defending Nick, and having it all happen so closely after hearing about the Railroad again felt like some kind of cosmic intervention.  
  
The Diamond City guards hadn’t kicked her out, miraculously, but the confrontation had definitely become the talk of the town. Myrna stopped selling goods to her again, and instead babbled some shit about how she was a ‘synth apologist’ any time she passed even remotely near the stall. Riley flipped her the bird at least twice, to which Nick had said, “Well, there’s no accounting for taste, is there?”  
  
Early on Tuesday morning, she knows she's leaving. She uses some caps she's saved up to buy some supplies in case she finds herself lost on the Freedom Trail.  
  
She’s lugging her backpack up the risers towards the big exit when she hears Piper’s voice.  
  
“You just gonna hightail it out of here, Blue? No big farewell to Diamond City’s favorite reporter?”  
  
When Riley turns, she sees her leaning against the railing with an issue of Publick Occurrences in hand. She chucks the rolled up paper at Riley, who catches it just barely. “At least take her on the road with ya.”  
  
Riley slips the issue into her bag with a nod. “Will do, Wright. Keep an eye on Nat for me— I taught her a few tricks here and there. Before you know it she might be breaking into the Mayor’s quarters.”  
  
Piper makes a dismissive hand motion. “Eh. What’s a little friendly neighborhood lockpicking on some corrupt politicians, amiright?” She tips her hat. “Stay safe out there, Blue.”  
  
Riley waves two fingers at her before turning to leave Diamond City.  


* * *

  
The Freedom Trail is long.  
  
Riley finds the red-bricked trail, sometimes improvised by paint and interrupted by debri, and follows it closely from landmark to landmark. She dispatches a few ghouls, mutts and supermutants on the way, but manages to use ammo sparingly.  
  
By the time she reaches Old North Church at the end of the red-bricked trail, her mahogany ‘swatter’ is covered in distinctly smelly blood. She wipes some of it off on the pavement before heading in.  
  
There are a few more ghouls to take out, and soon Riley is left to wander the old mildewed ruins.  
  
It doesn’t take her long to find the basement tunnel, and when she does, she’s heading through the crypt at a quick pace.  
  
Flicking the gunk off her bat once more, she lowers it to drag the floor as she approaches the golden ‘The Freedom Trail - Boston’ seal gleaming in the dim light.  
  
She steps closer, her fingers trailing across the metal and ghosting over the beveled arrow at the top. It doesn’t take her long to find that the wheel with the letters engraved upon them spins.  
  
What the hell else would a secret code be if it weren’t ‘Railroad’? Giving it a shot, she arranges each letter above the arrow appropriately and presses into the center of the seal each time.  
  
The red-bricked wall trembles and then slides open.  
  
It’s dark.  
  
She moves forward anyways, giving the circuit breaker on the wall a flip before coming to the conclusion it’s non-functional.  
  
Just as she’s moving forward into the tunnel, bright lights flick on, piercing through her eyes and into her skull.  
  
“Goddamn,” she exclaims, holding a hand over her eyes. Standing before her are three people— a redheaded middle-aged woman in ragged clothes, a beaky looking brunette boy in a hat and a dark-skinned goddess with silver hair and a minigun.  
  
“What’s with the blinding light?” she snarks, trying not to focus too much on the minigun. “Oh, are these the, uh, pearly gates to Heaven? I must’ve gotten off at the wrong stop. Damn, you guys need a power-wash. Maybe a home renovator?”  
  
“Stop right there,” the redhead commands, her voice deep and firm. “You went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting, but before we go any further, answer my questions. Who the _hell_ are you?”  
  
Riley eyes her. “I followed the Freedom Trail to find you. I’m not looking for a fight.”  
  
The woman returns her scrutinizing look. “If that’s true,” she begins carefully, “you have nothing to fear. Who told you how to contact us?”  
  
“I’ve heard about you from a few people. A couple of nobodies in Diamond City, most recently. Does it matter?”  
  
“Interesting,” the woman replies, ignoring her question. “Last question. Why are you here?”  
  
Riley takes a deep breath. “I, uh... tracked down and killed a courser at Greenetech Genetics. Now I need help breaking the code on the chip.”  
  
“You have _what_?"  
  
Riley sees someone out of the corner of her eye walking behind the woman. He has shades covering his eyes, but he’s dressed in a casual outfit and pompadour. When he speaks, her full attention falls on him.  
  
“You’re having a party. What gives with my invitation?” His voice is deep, with husky elements to it. It sounds familiar in a way she can’t quite place. “Oh. I see you invited the Courser killer. Niiice.”  
  
“Deacon,” the redhead chastises. “You’re late. You’re saying this outsider actually killed a Courser? Single-handedly? What else? Who is she? I need intel.”  
  
He seems unfazed. “Woww. News flash, Boss, this lady is _kiind_ of a big deal out there.”  
  
“Glad someone noticed," Riley mutters.  
  
“You know, you’re practically famous. The Railroad owes you a crate, Hell, a _truckload_ of Nuka-Cola for what you did to Kellogg. He was our public enemy number one. Anyways, Boss, if you’re done interrogating her, you miiiight want to show this Courser-murdering machine some respect. Just a thought.”  
  
“So.. you’re vouching for her?” The leader prompts, throwing Deacon a side glance.  
  
“Yes,” Deacon says, without hesitation. “Dez, we need to let her in. She’s got an intact Courser Chip for God’s sake.”  
  
The redheaded woman softens visibly. “That changes things. So, stranger— I’m going to assume you’re here for the purpose of joining us? Getting that code cracked? If so, I’m going to need to make sure we’re on the same page here. Do you know what a synth is?”  
  
Riley knows. She knows more than anything. “A synth is synthetic life created by the Institute. Treated like nothing but property— held in slavery or thrown out like garbage. Hell, sometimes even used to replace people out in the ‘Wealth. They bleed, talk and walk just like we do. Except.. well, except Nick.” Her voice drops, thinking of her best friend. “He’s.. a prototype. More wires and bolts than flesh and bone.”  
  
“Nick Valentine? You know him?” She seems impressed. “I.. I have a question. The only question that matters. Would you risk your life for your fellow man, even if that man is a synth?”  
  
“I risk my life for people every damn day. Makes no difference to me if it’s for a human or a synth. Nick, he’s... He’s one of the closest people to me in this shit pit, so.”  
  
“Well said. My name is Desdemona, and I’m the established leader of the Railroad. Normally, you’re exactly the type of person we’d try and recruit. Right now, though, we’re a little low on time to train up a new agent. There are, however, other valuable ways you can contribute. For now, we’re letting you into our headquarters. You’re the first outsider ever to be given this privilege, so don't make us regret it. We’ll discuss the details about your chip once you’re inside.”  
  
As Desdemona files out, Riley starts to follow after her, giving Deacon a nod on her way past.  
  
Once they’re inside, she sees the tunnel opening up into an actual crypt. Supplies, desks, equipment, and resources are scattered across the room, some built-in or perched on the coffins in the ground.  
  
“Decoding a Courser chip is a very delicate operation. A million things can go wrong— the least of which is losing the data. Fortunately, we have the right man for the job.” Dez is walking them over to a corner with some construction cones and signs propped up around various equipment stations. The man nearest to them has wild, dark eyes, freckles and a hat crafted from metal strapped to the top of his head.  
  
“Hey, Dez,” he says. “Need somethin’?”  
  
“Tom-- our visitor here has a Courser Chip.”  
  
“Whoa, for real? Oh, man, it’s been ages.” He’s excitable— even more excitable than his wild look had prepared her for.  
  
Dez continues. “Some ground rules— Tom can get you the code, but once he’s done we get to keep the chip.”  
  
Riley shrugs. “I just need its answers. I need to get into the Institute. What you do with it beyond that I don’t care.”  
  
“Fine.” She takes it from her. “Tom, make it happen.”  
  
“Alriiight, little Courser Chip. Let’s have the circuit analyzer take a crack at you.” Tom does his work, and Riley finds herself watching over his shoulder curiously. “We’re in,” he says finally. “Chip accessed. Just poke the analog, and— What?! Oh, man. Don’t crash. Hold it together. Memory hiccup.” He leans down suddenly, his metal hat lurching dangerously forward as if it might fall off. “Here it comesss. Encryption algorithms, alright, alright. We’re still runnin’. Ohhh, man— they’ve added more decimals to the last cipher. This is gonna beee.. C’mon, baby, show me that pattern. Where is it?” He pauses. “Wait. They’re using the same logarithmic function as the key generator. Oh man, we got lucky. I got you, you Institute bastard, I got you. Solve for N.. C’mon, show me that sweet sweet base number."

It's a good few more minutes before he speaks again. "Annnd... we got it! We got the code. Let me load that onto a holotape for ya.” 

  
Dez seems surprised. “Good work, Tom. Start working on the rest of the chip. And you...” Her gaze falls on Riley. “I’d love to work with you more. But to be crystal clear, if you use that data and discover anything involving the Institute, you share it with us first. Otherwise, our relationship will be in jeopardy.”  
  
“Yes, ma'am,” Riley agrees, trailing after her as she leaves Tinker Tom’s corner. “I’m just gonna, uh, have a word with Deacon.”  
  
“That would be wise,” she agrees, pulling out a cigarette. "He should have details on what to do next."  
  
Riley slips back out the front door, finding him leaning against the wall where she’d left him. “Hey, stranger.”  
  
He pulls himself off the wall. “Hope you didn’t mind the reception. When you tango with the Institute you gotta be careful when someone new gets on the dance floor.”  
  
“I mean, she was being cautious. I’d be a lot more worried if you invited in any old asshole that cracked your little ‘code’.”  
  
“Hey, you’d be surprised. If anyone these days can even spell the word ‘Railroad’, it’s cause for celebration. Anyway, kiiind of killed our chance for a friendly first impression, though. But it’s all good now— I vouched for you and nobody got shot. Still, I would consider it a close, personal favor if you didn’t sell us out to the Institute. Thanks.”  
  
“No problemo. Why’d you vouch for me, anyway?”  
  
Deacon adjusts his shades, a wry smile on his lips. “In our little outfit, it’s my job to know things. And with everything you’ve done, it’s clear you’re capable— a dangerous enemy, and _I’m_ betting, a valuable ally.”  
  
Riley makes a ‘hmm’-ing noise. “But why the trust? You can’t be taking it all on faith.”  
  
He considers this. “I don’t know if we can trust you, but I hope we can. We just survived a hell of a crisis, so we may be a teeny weensy desperate for new members. If everything was sunshine and bottlecaps, we might play a longer ‘getting to know you’ game, but we don’t have that luxury.”  
  
“Reaaally? Is that all?”  
  
Deacon’s lips twitch up at the corners in a faint grin. “You just don’t give up. Alright— I have a short list of people I think would be a good fit for our family. You piqued my interest, so maybe I asked around. Did my homework. If you hadn’t of found us first, there’s a good chance I would’ve come to you. Thanks for saving me the trip.”  
  
Riley doesn’t feel entirely satisfied with this answer, but she lets it slide.  
  
“So, anyways, Dez wants me to make you a ‘tourist’. That’s what we call someone who helps out with odd jobs here and there. What a waste. I’m just gonna come out and say it— the Railroad _needs_ you.”  
  
“You sure? Dez didn’t seem to be leaping at the opportunity.” Riley puts a hand on her hip. The last thing she wants is to be played a fool by this guy.  
  
“She’s just thinking of the time and manpower it’d take to train you. And if you were some hick from the burbs that didn’t know your ass from a rocket launcher, she’d be right. Buuut I’m betting someone like you just needs a few pointers and a target.”  
  
“I’m listening.”  
  
“I got a job— too big for me but perfect for two of us. You help out, we turn a few heads and then Dez invites you into the fold. Then, if you get into a bind and need help, your buddies in the Railroad got your back.”  
  
“What’s the job?”  
  
“So, up front, the only thing I’ll say is it’s going to be a wild and dangerous ride. Probably nothing new for someone like you.”  
  
Riley smirks a little. “Man, you just can’t lay off the flattery, can you? Did you fall in love with me during your little intel gathering spree?”  
  
Deacon might be surprised at this, but it’s not like she can see because of his shades. “Hey, I know a work of art when I see one. Playing in the dirt down here and spooning skeletons gives you a new appreciation for a guns-blazing war goddess when you see one.”  
  
Riley laughs, leaning back. “I’ll take your job. Sign me up.”  
  
“Perfecto. I’ll fill you in once we get to the old freeway outside Lexington.”  
  
“Let’s do it,” she says, and she means it.

For the first time in a while, she has a goal and a purpose.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading my deacon-flavored trash (if you did). this particular fic isn't really set up to have some crazy, totally original plot-- instead, this kind of going to be the 'canon' story to my main sole survivor, riley owens. you've probably figured this out by now, but like.. nate wasn't her husband. he was actually her brother, and his wife (riley's sister-in-law) is my best friend's character, mila. riley was kind of an irresponsible little shit pre-war, and accidentally becoming pregnant with shaun was pretty in line with her whole thing. nate and mila actually took her in for awhile when she had to take pregnancy leave from work. and then,, the bombs, lol. anyway, yeah. this fic will focus a lottt on the relationship between deacon and the ss-- it's integral to her story. also it's rated E because, like.. shit's gonna get spicy. so watch out
> 
> (yes, the title is a reference to mary jane's last dance, fucking sue me)


End file.
